


Identity

by ziefyrr (helpidkausername)



Series: vicious cycle; among us [2]
Category: Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Backstory, Can be read on its own, Car Accidents, Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Late at Night, Mira HQ (Among Us), Names, Outer Space, Spaceships, The Skeld (Among Us), War, all characters go by they/them pronouns, prequel to Betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helpidkausername/pseuds/ziefyrr
Summary: Identity is such a fickle thing. Like the seasons, it changes, shifts, morphs.It should have been summer on Earth now.“Who were you before all this?” Blue slurs, a bottle of unspecified alcohol dangling from their fingers.Red shrugs, taking a swig from their own bottle. “Heh. That’s against the rules and you know it.” Still, something swirls inside them and Red knows it isn’t the alcohol.
Relationships: Blue & Red (Among Us)
Series: vicious cycle; among us [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948288
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	Identity

**Author's Note:**

> What happened the night before Red was voted out. Late night conversations with Blue and Red, breaking the contract and revealing who they were before going to space. More angst here. Some trigger warnings include alcohol drinking, some blood mention, glass shards.

Identity is such a fickle thing. Like the seasons, it changes, shifts, morphs. 

It should have been summer on Earth now.

“Who were you before all this?” Blue slurs, a bottle of unspecified alcohol dangling from their fingers. 

Red shrugs, taking a swig from their own bottle. “Heh. That’s against the rules and you know it.” Still, something swirls inside them and Red knows it isn’t the alcohol. 

They squint through their own visor, trying to sneak a peek at Blue’s face under the helmet. It’s useless, but the drunken mind of Red’s tells them to try anyway. Red groans. 

“Yeah, so? Who the hell cares?” Blue says, resting an elbow and propping up their lolling head. “What’s the Future Organisation gonna do? Come up here and punish us?”

One of the ten commandments all participants had to agree to is to never reveal one’s past identity. This project is a new beginning, to be stripped of your previous life and name, to be truly anonymous. It’s easy for that to happen. Identity is a fickle thing. 

It’s fragile but precious. Latching onto it as if we can prevent the inevitable change. 

“They’re super shady too,” Red mentions. They shift, crossing their legs on their chair. “As if the name ‘Future Organisation’ doesn’t raise a few eyebrows. So much secrecy!”

A silence stretches, but it’s comfortable. Both astronauts nurse their half-empty bottles in the empty cafeteria, at what they feel is 2 AM. Everyone else on the ship is asleep. It’s just the two of them now, half-conscious. 

“I was a war refugee.” Blue states. They’re looking down, gazing into the bottle as if it held all the answers. “Was scavenging when I came across the ad. It was my chance to escape, so I took it without hesitation.”

They look up, hoping that the reveal of their backstory will spur Red to share theirs too. Red hesitates, then takes one last drink. 

“Many misfortunes. I couldn’t take it anymore,” they whisper, just barely audible. “Lost everyone I loved.”

Identity is a fickle thing. One day, Red had everything together. The next, they were shattered on the floor, broken. It hurt to remember who they were. 

A single tear escapes and Red loudly sniffles. 

“Another drink?” Blue offers, standing up. 

Red nods, letting out a shaky breath. 

“It’s not exactly true,” Blue says, “that I didn’t hesitate.” They put a bottle down in front of Red, a quiet clink accompanying it. “I got to the HQ and all I could think about is my mom and brother. I was leaving them behind to survive the harsh conditions of war. Being involved in this project... it was a selfish decision.” They sit. 

Red opens the bottle but doesn’t drink. “Yet, you’re here.”

“Yeah.”

Another stretch of silence. Blue chugs the entire bottle, wincing at the burn. Red preps themself to speak. 

Identity is a fickle thing. Sometimes you can never piece it back together. 

“I...” Red gulps, trying to force the words out. It’s only fair. “First was the divorce. We were struggling financially and he just left. Left me to fend for myself and my toddler. That wasn’t the end. Found myself a girlfriend afterwards.”

“I’m assuming that didn’t end well...?”

They shake their head. “Realised we just didn’t work. It was mutual. No hard feelings, but I was alone again, and financially unstable.” Red’s grip on the bottle tightens, veins popping up from below their skin. 

Identity is a fickle thing. 

“I was a parent,” they manage out and a sob forces its way out. “She was... she was the light of my life. And I— I fucking—“ Red doesn’t finish. They hurl the bottle as hard as possible, the glass shattering on impact. 

The shards fall like a shower of glittering gems. Unable to be pieced together again, just like Red. 

They inhale sharply, trying to blink away the tears. “It should’ve been me. God, why wasn’t it me?” Red sucks in another painful breath. “It was... a car crash. I was in a taxi and... Both drivers and my baby girl were dead on impact. I was the only survivor.”

Red feels exactly how they felt a year ago. Numb and picking up the sharp shards of what had been their identity. The edges slicing their skin but they feel absolutely nothing. Trying to glue them back together. 

Who Red was can never be repaired. Identity is a fickle thing. Such a huge part of a person, but never thought of much.

Blue says nothing. They only stand and walk over to Red, wrapping their arms around their newfound friend tightly. The warmth. Red hasn’t felt that in a while. 

Immediately, the waterfalls are released. Red sobs loudly and uglily into Blue’s shoulder, but their tears never escape their suit. Blue rubs Red’s back and neck, whispering soothing words. 

“Hey. I’m here for you, okay? I’m sorry for making you relive such horrible memories.” Blue rests their chin on Red’s helmet. “It’s 20XX, we’re in the cafeteria aboard the Vessel. Your name is Red, not whatever it was before. I’m Blue. You’re here. I’m here.”

Identity is a fickle thing. Something that is who you are, in its entirety, can be erased from existence and replaced by something new. A swift motion of a hand, the smooth flow of ink from a pen. 

That’s all you need to kill your identity and be reborn again. 

“I think... I think I should head back.” Red whispers through hiccups. They detach themself from Blue’s embrace, looking at them endearingly. “It’s late and I... we still have tasks to do tomorrow.”

Blue nods. 

Both of them ignore the disguised, bloody elephant in the room. 

Three bodies. Someone is killing them one by one. 

Blue helps Red up and they leave their half-full bottles on the table. They take their leave, walking towards the dorms. 

“Hey,” Blue says when they reached Red’s room. 

Red looks to Blue, waiting for the continuation. 

“My name was Layla. But... just call me Blue. Layla doesn’t exist anymore.” With that, Blue gives a smile that cannot be seen and begins walking to their own room.

Red sticks their head out, watching Blue’s figure shrink. “I- my...”

“You don’t have to tell me what your name was!” They call, not turning around. “I just felt like you deserved to know.”

Red slumps against the doorframe, mouth moving but no sound coming out. Blue’s door clicks shut. 

Identity is a fickle thing. To Red, Blue is still Blue. Blue isn’t Layla or whoever they were on Earth. And Red is content to call Blue by their colour. 

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, Blue,” Red whispers, closing their own door. “You deserve to know too.”


End file.
